Extruendam Eam
by JayseHasNoGrace
Summary: War is difficult and traumatic. People die. People sacrifice. People get back up and put themselves back together when it's over. Harry isn't getting back to normal. He's been through a lot, and he's always been able to make it to the other side, but this was just too much. No matter how hard it is, Harry has to learn to heal at his own pace. He's got to learn to live again.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Harry kept his head low throughout the Welcoming Feast, just as he had since the final battle. Just as he had on the Hogwarts express too, and during the First Years' sorting.

"Come on mate, aren't you a bit excited to be back?" Ron finally asked, nudging Harry gently with his shoulder.

"It's not that, it's just...you know."

Hermione's warm hand covered his from across the table.

"We _do_ know Harry; I see the Great Hall and notice how many people are missing even with the returning Eighth Years added. I can see how few Eighth Years there are, and I'm perfectly aware that it's not all due to _choice_ that they're not returning," her tone softened. "I understand, Ron understands, and I know that different people deal with things differently, but it's been awhile Harry and you're not even beginning to try to get better. It's not healthy to be so closed off all of the time. You've got to start trying to branch out again or you're never going to get back to normal."

"I don't need a full on lecture over dinner, thanks," Harry mumbled, irked by Hermione's 'This is an Intervention' tone.

"'Mione's not trying to, it's just concerning how withdrawn you've become. We've given you space for over three months now and you seem worse off, if anything! We just want to help you mate; you're not in a good place."

"Oh yeah? You think I don't know that I'm not in a good place. Brilliant, you are! Thanks for pointing that out Ron," he spat still taking care to keep his voice low. He didn't want any more attention attracted to himself.

"That was unnecessary Harry," Hermione frowned.

"Great, well can you tell all the crap that's happening in my head it's unnecessary too? Maybe it'll listen to you and stop, but I don't really think telling me my words are unnecessary is too constructive right now."

Hermione sighed, but stayed silent.

"Great intervention guys, but I think I'm going to go off to bed now." Harry stood and strode out of the Great Hall. He could feel the hundreds of pairs of eyes on him and hear the speculative gossip begin. Whatever. He just wanted to wrap himself up inside of his cosy Hogwarts bed and settle in for a long night of staring at the bed hangings. Alone. In silence.

When he reached the portrait of the Fat Lady he realised he had no idea what the password was and heaved a put-upon sigh. He sank down against the wall and sat in wait. Bored seemed to be his default state now anyway, so he didn't much mind waiting anymore. Waiting was just like anything else. Boring.

Perhaps an hour passed before Harry heard the unmistakable sound of a massive crowd of students plodding up the stairs to the seventh floor. He stood reluctantly, and the first prefect came into view.

"Alright at the top of the stairs come gather 'round," the prefect shouted to the First Years still climbing the stairs below.

Harry tapped him on the shoulder and asked for the password, realising only once he had begun asking that it was Dennis Creevey. He swallowed a lump in his throat and tried not to think about how it was his fault that Dennis no longer had an older brother.

"It's, uh, it's Boggart-"

"Great, thanks," Harry said quickly turning toward the portrait, eager to escape.

"Wait, Harry!"

"What?"

"It's nice to see you. I'm sorry things are so difficult for you what with the gawking looks and things. I'll do my best to keep the younger Gryffindors in check."

"Er, thanks Dennis."

He quickly gave the Fat Lady the password and climbed through the portrait hole. Harry didn't stop running until he flopped onto his bed - in the same place, in the same room as it always had been. That part was comforting, but it did little in the face of Harry being surrounded by all of the horrors of last spring.

Ignoring his trunk (it was a mess anyway - he wouldn't bother dealing with it until he had to), he stripped off his robes, closed the curtains on his bed tightly, and cast a silencing charm so he wouldn't need to hear when the other boys came in. Curling up tightly against his pillow, he commenced the staring and thinking for the night, trying to avoid some of the more vicious thoughts in his head. Of course, this did not work. It hadn't yet though, so Harry wasn't surprised.

When Ron poked his head through the curtains in the morning, Harry's vision focused and he wrenched himself out of his thoughts.

"Harry? Did you even sleep?"

"Yeah," he answered glumly and began to get up to get dressed. He had been in a sort of doze-like state for most of the night, so that ought to count for something.

"You've still got your glasses on."

"Yes, I do Ron. Any more clever observations?"

"Right, you're still being a massive prick. Got it. You know me and Hermione just want to help you."

"Okay, sure. Being a social butterfly is going to spontaneously make me happy and forget everything. Nevermind the fact I never liked socialising to begin with."

"You know that isn't what we meant, Harry," he paused in exasperation. "Right, Hermione's going to be the only one trying to help you from now on, because I am giving up! Tell me when you want to stop being a completely crap friend and a miserable person."

"Awesome. You could've just done that from the beginning. It's not like you actually thought any of this would help." Harry walked to the washroom and shut the door firmly.

"Wow. Has he been like this ever since…?" Neville asked from where he was sat on his bed with the curtains wide.

"Whenever either Hermione or I've actually gotten to talk to him, yeah."

Seamus whistled through his teeth.

"I feel terrible because he went through a lot, but he's being a royal prat to you. You don't deserve it, you've always stuck right by him, but he was really laying in."

"Real early too," Dean chimed in, rubbing his face as he finally rolled out of bed.

"It's fine, I just hope he gets himself together soon," Ron sighed.

"Let me know if I can help at all, or if you just want another person to try talking to him," Neville offered.

"Thanks Nev," Ron grinned tiredly.

Harry burst back into the room and looked at all the boys staring at him because of the startling noise.

"What?" Harry asked, knowing full well why they were looking, but spoiling for a fight nonetheless.

"Just startled," Seamus said in a measuring voice.

Harry glowered and made his way over to his trunk, and all the other boys busied themselves.

Internally, Harry felt a bit sorry for being horrible, but he was irritable this morning and hopefully they would continue leaving him alone this way. He just wanted to be _alone_ all the time. Then again when he was alone his mind was left to take over with no obstacles, and things could get ugly. Although at least when he was by himself he wasn't hurting people by pushing them away.

Harry left the room, ignoring anyone who might have been in the common room, and walked down to the Great Hall for breakfast on his own. He was just stepping off of the sixth floor staircase when he felt a hand on his shoulder and whirled around. Hermione stood, panting, apparently having run after him from the common room.

"Hey, Harry! You left without us." She looked saddened by it, even though it was such small thing. Harry supposed that, combined with yesterday's events, it was understandable that she'd be upset, but he still just wanted to be left alone.

"I'm sorry 'Mione…" he paused. He couldn't be mean to her again right now; he just couldn't bring himself to when he knew how much it would upset her. He sighed. "I'm just a little scatterbrained. Let's wait for Ron, yeah?"

"Yes," she replied, giving him an inquisitive once-over. She looked away, ostensibly deciding it could wait until later, or perhaps speculating quietly in her head. The silence filled the space between them awkwardly as several students passed and they waited.

"Oh good! I thought you went ahead without me too," Ron bounded up to Hermione, then noticed Harry and gave him an uncertain smile.

"Let's go eat? I'm starving."

Harry followed them reluctantly, but was also secretly pleased that they still clearly wanted to _try_ with him. If he were in their place, Harry thought he surely would've given up by now. He'd made himself practically unreachable and constantly unavailable all summer, and had been incredibly curt and ungrateful with them whenever they talked - and yet they were still here. Not only were they around, they still sought him out, and even after Ron said he'd given up he had still smiled when Harry was waiting for him.

Acting out of habit, Harry grabbed a slice of buttered toast and commenced staring at the table. Robotically, he began pulling it to pieces and occasionally nibbling on one or the other. He hadn't eaten much at dinner the night before, and his stomach growled, but he ignored it. It wasn't only hunger - he felt quite queasy as well, but was well used to it. At Grimmauld Place he had kept to the same ritual every morning, and it was working fine so far. His stomach had felt off ever since their irregular year traveling. The past few months hadn't really done anything to fix that.

He dropped the mangled toast fragments, deciding he was done, and poured himself a cup of tea. While he waited for it to cool, he pulled out his schedule. He hadn't looked at it when he'd gotten it, and had merely tossed it aside. Now, he supposed, would be a good time to look. The first thing he saw when it was unfolded was that all of the eighth years would be sharing classes. Harry groaned internally. The last thing he wanted was more people around all day - and people that knew him and might want to talk to him, no less.

Well dealing with more people regularly wasn't great, but he could cope with it. He just had to keep his head down and stay quiet. Looking back at the schedule he saw that Transfiguration was first. That shouldn't be so bad, McGonagall was kind but strict, and certainly wouldn't allow gossip or people harping on him. He glanced up at the faculty table and froze. How had he forgotten? Professor McGonagall wouldn't be teaching transfiguration any longer because she was the headmistress, so there was a new professor. He hadn't payed any attention during the welcome address the night before, so he wasn't sure who it would be.

There were several new faces at the faculty table, so he supposed starting out his classes this year would be quite the adventure. Not - of course - that he forgot why there was more than one. His mind snapped to the image of Professor Burbage suspended above the table in Malfoy Manor screaming as she was tortured, and then to Snape's memories leaking out and covering the ground. Harry shook his head to clear it and took a sip of tea to calm himself. It was still quite hot and his tongue smarted at the burning liquid, but he took a few more sips anyway.

In all honesty, some part of him was thrilled to be back here at school because here things were simple: he took classes and did homework. That was it. The other part of him, however, resented the loss of his freedom to determine for himself what he did and when he did it. No longer could he decide to sleep the entire week away, instead he would be stuck writing essays he was out of practice for and that were likely to be useless in the rest of his life.

Several students started to leave for their first classes and Harry gathered his things, glad to at least have something to do. Doing things was nice because then he could pretend to have a purpose and not just _sit_. That was all he really did if nothing called for him to do otherwise. He would just _sit_ completely still, doing nothing, just sitting. Apparently others thought this was concerning.

"...Transfiguration?" Ron asked, breaking through Harry's reverie.

"Er, yeah. I've got that next- first, whatever."

"Alright."

Ron and Hermione walked off and Harry followed. He didn't mean to push away his friends - it wasn't fun - it's just that it was easier. The same way it was easier to just sit. Alone, of course.

"Welcome, I'm Professor Ludgor, as Headmistress McGonagall has informed you," A voice boomed from the front of the room, with a slight lisp. The man it came from looked quite average and unassuming. Not at all the type that would produce a voice as forceful as that. He had wavy black hair and a face that looked as if you could mould it like clay, although it was currently quite flat.

"I will be teaching you transfiguration and, to be quite honest, I'm glad I've got you lot first," Professor Ludgor continued, "You're adults and therefore less likely to shred me to pieces on my first day."

A couple of students halfheartedly laughed at what was apparently supposed to be a joke.

Hermione raised her hand and Professor Ludgor indicated that she should speak.

"I just wanted to know if we will be learning the same things as the Seventh Years or if our curriculum will differ slightly."

Professor Ludgor seemed to concentrate intensely on her face and then paused for a bit before he replied.

"You will be learning many of the same things as the Seventh Years, but I think the class will be less structured. I will be much more willing to let any of you take the lesson in any particular direction you may be interested in. More independent work will be encouraged and you will have more choice on essay topics. You've still got to be prepared for your N.E.W.T.S. though, that's why you're here after all. Does that answer your question?"

"Yes," Hermione smiled.

Harry thought that sounded fantastic. If he cared at all, that was. It wasn't that he didn't want to care, it was just that he didn't really care about anything anymore. Actual interests seemed ages away, and it was hard for him to believe he had ever been so fully committed to quidditch, and that it had actually been fun. Interest in anything just didn't seem like a reality to Harry anymore.

Professor Ludgor began the lesson and Harry tried to focus his attention on the information rather than his wandering thoughts and oppressive boredom.

This effort quickly went out the window and he began staring at the wall behind Professor Ludgor's head, and letting the sounds blend together into a background lull. Everything around him seemed to melt and became varying shades of red wax bleeding together. He couldn't actually _hear_ the screaming, but he knew it was there. The pain, however, he really could feel. It was dull and manageable, but he knew he was being paid all the pain of those tortured and murdered by Voldemort because of him.

He succumbed almost gratefully, basking in the dull aching pain as he floated, suspended on the tide of molten crimson wax. He embraced it because this way he could at least feel that he was being served what justice and fairness demanded. It didn't matter that he was "the saviour" or whatever; he'd still cost so many people so much. So many lives, so many people's sanity and health. The people closest to him he'd hurt the most. The family he considered his own was missing a son. His godson was missing both of his parents. Teddy would never even remember them, and it was all due to Harry. The wax understood. It didn't treat him differently because of who he was - it gave him his proper dues.

Pfft, pfft, pfft. Tap tap. Scritch. Pfft, pfft, pfft. Tap tap. Scritch.

Harry was wrested from inside his head, where his mind had been mulling around out of focus, as his brain finally processed the repetitive and annoying rhythm behind his head. He looked back in annoyance to get the perpetrator to _stop_. Malfoy sat behind him, head on hand, eyes drooping, absentmindedly moving his quill against the desk. Harry quickly turned back around. Really, the noise was infuriating, but he didn't want to antagonise Malfoy - it would have been hard enough for the boy to come back to school at all.

He didn't know how he felt about Malfoy honestly. He was stuck between holding onto the old rivalry out of his own stubbornness and bitterness, and feeling actual sympathy for him. Looking back, Malfoy had been horrible to him, Ron, Hermione, and a lot of other underserving people, but he was not only raised by, but also raised to idolise the monster that was Lucius Malfoy. When it came to his part in the war, he didn't have much more choice in matters than Harry had - and while he'd boasted about his Dark Mark at first, his fear and regret became evident fairly quickly. And then he hadn't turned Harry in to the snatchers, and Harry had taken his wand, without which he couldn't have done much.

After that, history was turned on its head and Harry had saved Draco's life, then Narcissa had saved Harry's. It hadn't even seemed like an option _not_ to speak at Draco and Narcissa's trials. Harry wasn't about to let excessive punishments go to the undeserving in the fearful aftermath of the war. Merlin, there were plenty of deserving, guilty scum to be punished without Draco and Narcissa being lumped in with them.

Pfft, pfft, pfft. Tap tap. Scritch. Pfft, pfft, pfft. Tap tap. Scritch.

Harry didn't want to draw attention or argue with Malfoy but the sound _needed_ to stop. Right then.

It did not stop.

Pfft, pfft, pfft. Tap tap. Scritch. Pfft, pfft, pfft. Tap tap. Scritch. Pfft, pfft, pff- thump.

Harry had turned and snapped his hand onto Malfoy's, forcing the quill flat. He put a bit of pressure on the hand for emphasis and then removed his own.

"Thank you," Harry said, and turned back to face the front. He could see both Ron and Hermione giving him questioning looks, but he refused to look at them. The back of his neck prickled, and was sure that he could feel Malfoy staring at him, but he was also sure there was no way he could actually tell unless he looked. Which he refused to do.

Instead of looking at anyone, Harry decided to try and see if he could see what was going on in the lesson. It was quickly apparent that he had no idea what was happening and that he would not be catching up, but that Professor Ludgor would continue talking at them all anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Feathers. Feathers were pouring everywhere. They caressed Harry's face as they floated by, and he could feel that several were perched in his hair. The sharp end of one scratched his arm, and he looked closer to see that they were actually quills. Thick black ink was dripping out of them and he felt some trickle down his forehead out of his hair.

He looked down at where the quill had scratched his arm and saw a thin line of blood there. Some of the ink began to drip into his eyes, and he wiped it away in annoyance, but when he pulled his hand away it was covered in red. More blood dripped from his hand onto the small cut on his arm, and Harry watched as the blood in his hand thickened and congealed into red wax, which continued to drip onto his arm. More wax began to pour from the laceration, burning as it came out of his skin. The wax splashed onto the floor, and began to flood the floor with scarlet, which began to cling to the skin of his bare feet and climb up his legs.

Everywhere the wax made contact his skin burned and blistered painfully, but Harry stood still and took it. In a way it was good to have this reprieve occasionally - to be reminded that he was human and elementally ordinary. The wax did not give him exception because he was "chosen" or because he happened to be the one who was given the information that made it possible to kill Lord Voldemort. Most importantly, it made him remember how monumental everything he'd done was and how much pain and destruction he had actually caused. Nothing else ever focused on that part - they just bypassed it as necessary for him to be the great one that "saved the wizarding world." It wasn't though. There must have been a way to bypass all of that. But Harry had never really looked for another way, had he?

He rolled over and opened his eyes. Apparently Harry's mind had decided that he'd given enough payment for the moment, and he sighed in exhaustion. Harry was surprised that he'd actually fallen asleep and dreamt, although he supposed it had to happen every so often. He reached a hand around the bed curtains to grab his wand and lazily ended the silencing spell. Flopping back down, Harry listened to see if any of the other boys was awake yet. Only hearing even breathing and snores, he resigned himself to staring at the curtains as always. Strangely though, Harry felt antsy and unable to just lie and stare as he had gotten so used to doing.

Deciding it couldn't hurt, he swung his feet over the side of the bed and stood. Checking the time, he discovered that it was just past five in the morning; wandering around the castle should be alright then. Quietly, he got dressed and left the dormitory, deciding he might as well go ahead and bring his bag with him so he could avoid further human interaction later going to get it.

He wasn't sure quite where he was going, but he figured it didn't really matter - he just wanted to walk. Avoiding the upper floors, which had not been fixed so splendidly after the battle as the Great Hall and lower floors had been, Harry decided that wandering the dungeons might be a safe bet. They were creepy and drafty, but they were unlikely to remind him of much besides Snape.

As he walked along the dark corridors, he began to trail his hand along the wall. It was comforting and grounding to feel the cool, rough stone keeping pace with him as he made his way farther and farther into the dungeons. The slaps of his footsteps echoing in the face of the complete silence that covered everything else was nice as well. He felt so alone, but in a peaceful way, which was completely foreign to him. He pondered this new feeling of calm aloneness and then let it go. His mind was staying surprisingly quiet, and behaving for once. While he felt he deserved - and even to a degree _wanted_ \- the constant reminders of the gravity of his past actions, the respite was also a relief.

The sounds of several pairs of feet echoed through the dungeon corridors and Harry realised both that it must somehow already be time for breakfast and that he must have circled back close to the Slytherin common rooms without noticing. At least he would be able to get back out easily.

Harry wasn't particularly hungry, but he was still sorely tempted to go straight to the Great Hall rather than back to the Gryffindor common room to wait for Ron and Hermione. All the same, he didn't think he should try to blow off Hermione two days in a row. He wearily made his way back up the several long flights of stairs to the portrait of the Fat Lady and gave her the password to be allowed entrance. The common room was empty, so he sat himself directly in front of the fireplace to wait for his friends.

"There you are mate! We were wondering why you weren't in the room," Ron exclaimed, shattering Harry's intense concentration on the flames. He nodded vaguely in acknowledgement of Ron's words and continued to sit in wait for Hermione. Ron seemed to be trying to begin a conversation for a few moments before he gave up and plopped himself down on the couch to wait in silence.

The two were not waiting long before Hermione emerged from the girls' dormitories.

"Good, you two are already ready. Shall we go?"

Harry once again nodded, and Ron responded enthusiastically, bounding over to hug his girlfriend. They weren't particularly bad about public displays of affection, and Harry was happy for them, but it was still a bit odd sometimes when they did something overtly coupley. Hermione wrinkled her brow in concern as she shot Harry a questioning look over Ron's shoulder. Of course she had noticed that Harry was off this morning - then again, wasn't he always off nowadays? He looked away, pretending not to have seen her.

The three of them made their way down to the Great Hall, and Harry found himself beginning to notice that although he was clearly walking with them, he didn't actually feel as if he was in his body. He could sort of feel his limbs moving, but it felt fuzzy, and he felt like he was floating out of his own skin. It was an altogether odd sensation, and he may have ordinarily said something about it, but he found that his mouth was not working correctly.

He was sat at the Gryffindor table in the Great hall now, but was entirely unsure he remembered getting there. Instead of reaching for his usual slice of toast, he found he was much more comfortable just sitting and allowing the weight of his body to drag him down and keep him in stillness.

"Gbrsm?" a garbled noise reached his ears and Harry turned his head slowly, with effort to see Hermione's questioning face.

"What?" He finally forced out.

"Are you okay? You should really eat something, Harry."

Harry managed to reach out for toast, and got it onto his plate. He didn't think he had given his hand permission to let go, but the food had made it to his plate, so he figured it was alright.

"Harry? Are you feeling okay?" Hermione's face was creased with concern and Harry found that forcing out more words was too difficult. He mustered a shrug.

"What's wrong?" Ron asked.

"I can't feel my body," Harry whispered.

"Sorry? What was that?"

"He said...he can't feel his body?" Hermione told Ron confusedly. "What do you mean Harry? Do you think someone casted some sort of hex on you?"

Harry shook his head slightly. His arm was abruptly soaked in a puddle of cold pumpkin juice.

"Oh shite! Sorry!" Seamus apologised and sheepishly righted the pitcher he had knocked over.

Instead of moving his hand, however, Harry just let it sit, unable to find the will to move it. He could feel the cold piercingly, which was interesting. The cold enveloped his hand and he focused on the sensation, and felt himself slowly returning to his body. His head still felt quite fuzzy, but he felt _present_ and grounded again.

"Harry?" Ron was looking at him with a panicky sort of worry that he was clearly trying to conceal from his friend.

Harry just got up and left the Great Hall. He thought he may have heard Ron's voice calling after him, but he headed to the nearest bathroom anyway. He needed to get himself together before classes, and Ron would be okay. There was nothing to really worry about - nothing that Ron could help with anyway. The wet sleeve of his cloak slapped against his arm, and he impatiently cast a _scourgify_ at the offending sleeve.

When Harry got to the bathroom, he sat on the floor and put his head down on his knees and concentrated on his breathing. He hadn't experienced something like this yet. Over the summer there had definitely been several panic attacks, and they had been similar to this in some ways, but he couldn't tell if he was panicking now. He didn't think so, but it was difficult to tell. His breathing seemed regular. Maybe he was fine. Maybe he was just losing it and making all of this up. Who knew if he'd ever really been stable.

One of the stall doors opened and there was the sound of someone washing their hands. Harry waited a few moments, but there were no footsteps leaving the room.

"Potter? Are you okay?" asked a hesitant voice. Harry had a sinking feeling he knew who that voice belonged to.

He raised his head and saw Malfoy looking at him with sympathy.

"Yeah, er, I'm fine," Harry spit out quickly, hoping Malfoy would just go away. Dealing with people right now was not what Harry wanted at all.

"Really?" Malfoy asked archly. "Wandering about the corridors at the crack of dawn and sitting alone on the bathroom floor during breakfast is 'fine' now, is it?"

"It doesn't really concern you Malfoy."

Malfoy sighed deeply.

"I was only trying to help. But no, I suppose it doesn't concern me," and with that he simply left, which left Harry feeling oddly dissatisfied. He didn't know what he had been expecting at any point during that short interaction, but that had certainly not been it.

He stood up and cast another cleaning spell over his robes, briefly entertaining the idea of skiving off his first class. Unfortunately, it was only the second day of the school year and he found it hard to believe that he would not be missing many classes over the course of the term, so it was probably not the best idea to begin so early.

As he walked back to the Great Hall, he remembered that he had no idea what classes he had today. Students leaving for their first classes began to pass him and he quickened his pace.

"Harry!" Hermione called. She was holding his bag out for him.

He jogged over to her and took it, thanking her.

"What happened in the Great Hall?"

"I dunno 'Mione. I'm fine now. Come on we'll be late for class. Do you know what I have?"

Hermione gave him a slightly disappointed look.

"Double Potions. Ron and I too. Ron went ahead."

Class with Slughorn had not been particularly pleasant for Harry for a number of reasons. Firstly, Professor Slughorn was still under the impression that Harry was a potions genius because he had done exceptionally well his sixth year due to using the old textbook of an _actual_ potions genius. He had kept trying to get Harry to participate and speak up, which was most definitely not what Harry wanted to do. And then Slughorn had shot Harry a simpering consolatory smile every time he didn't know the answer or got it wrong.

Besides Slughorn himself, Harry could have sworn that both Ron and Hermione had been sending him concerned glances nearly without stop throughout the entire lesson. He couldn't be certain, however, because he had refused to look at either of them, not wanting either of them to try and start up a discreet conversation.

Harry grabbed a sandwich with more force than strictly necessary, and began eating it quickly. Checking himself before he got sick, he made a conscious effort to slow down. He _hated_ having to be so conscious with food. It was such a simple thing, and yet it wasn't anymore to his body. Months of irregular eating, and skipping meals without much sleep hadn't done great things to his system - which Harry had understood as he was still in the woods on the run, but now it had been quite a while since then and things were not going back to normal.

He took another bite and tried to pay attention to the flavours and think about them to make sure he was chewing for a while, but there just wasn't much to think of in the way of sandwich flavours. Harry thought his body should really have been used to this, what with the way the Dursleys had kept him from meals and had subjected them to Dudley's diet and such. Although, he _had_ been younger, and it had been for somewhat short periods after his first year at Hogwarts, plus he had often gotten sweets by owl after that as well.

Sighing, he wrapped another sandwich in a napkin and tucked it in his bag, then took a last bite of the one he'd been working on. He'd be up to it later, and he knew he would certainly want something later. Muttering a vague excuse to Ron and Hermione, he got up and left before they could respond. Quiet and solitude was all that he wanted, and he didn't really know where to go, but some sort of alcove or something would be nice.

After a bit of fruitless wandering, Harry found his feet leading him back to the dark maze of the dungeons. The monotony of the twisting stone corridors, lit so dimly compared to the rest of the castle, was soothing to Harry's chaotic brain. It quelled the constant overwhelmed feeling that wasn't really due to any one thing in particular. His thoughts had permission to be blank or to wander slowly and passively through inoffensive topics.

The crackling fire in the Gryffindor common room meandered through his brain, and he thought of the evening before. Hermione had succeeded in actually getting into the swing of another intervention talk in the common room after dinner. Not that she hadn't already tried multiple times that day already during lunch and in their breaks.

She insisted that she cared about his opinions on what was helpful for him, but that she and Ron had already given him a chance over summer to do things his way. His way was clearly not working, as he seemed no better and quite possibly _worse_ off. Her problem there was that she had used _logic_. Harry thought she should have known better.

He knew her arguments technically made sense, but he didn't like them, and didn't want to deviate (even _more_ than he'd already had to for school) from his own schedule he'd made. Trying her techniques to help him sounded difficult and stressful and those were two things he did not want.

Hermione really did just want to help him, and so did Ron (regardless of whether he'd said he'd given up or not, clearly he was still trying). Harry could see that, and he felt it was reassuring that they cared, but at the same time he didn't really feel like they _could_ help him. He didn't know if anything could help him. Harry had been very prone toward feeling lately that maybe he was just past help.

As much as Hermione insisted that the brain was flexible and resilient, and that healing was a process, it was hard for Harry to believe he could ever just be normal. Sure, healing might be a process, but really what was the point if he didn't know if any of Hermione's suggestions would work at all? He'd have to drag it out for a long time because she'd say it works slowly, and he'd have to be so uncomfortable throughout all of it because he couldn't just do what he _wanted_. Isolating himself was strictly off of her list of acceptable things, and really, he thought that was ridiculous. Everybody needs a bit of time to themselves, and Harry just happened to want a lot.

It wasn't that he didn't like them - he did very much, they were his best friend and had been with him through everything - but they were still people and people were hard for Harry to deal with. On top of that, Harry didn't want to disappoint them by pretending things were okay and then acting differently when he tried to spend time with them, because as much as he could try he knew there was no way he could truly act like he used to.

In a way he missed it. He used to have such an easy and comfortable relationship with his best friends and he wanted to just be able to talk and laugh with them again. Another part of him despised the fact that he wanted things to be calm and relatively content again. It seemed like he would only be intentionally blinding himself to the way the world really was and the fact that he would never be able to be left content. To that side of Harry, it seemed just silly of him to wish for that when he knew he could never have it. He'd just hate himself more because he'd be faking it the whole time. Or maybe he would eventually get close, but then something was bound to come along and send him spiraling right back down like it always did. There was no point in stringing his friends along only to disappoint them more later - this way they could just go ahead and get used to him this way and move on like that.

Harry stumbled slightly on an uneven stone in the floor and caught himself in surprise. He had forgotten that he was, well, _anywhere_ he guessed. He'd been so deep in his thoughts he had just forgotten that there was an _outside_ as well. Speaking of the outside, he realised that lunch may very well be over and he'd better see if he was late for class.

He fished out his schedule and found that his next class was Herbology (he also noted with excitement that he had an extra free period the next morning - more opportunity for hermiting himself away). Picking up his pace, he finally cleared the dungeons to see that there were still students leaving the Great Hall from lunch. Good, Harry had been lucky that he'd been wandering for a shorter time than he'd thought. He quickly headed to the greenhouses for class, deciding that he could probably get away with skulking around the library for a time after the lesson and again after dinner to avoid a repeat of the evening before.


	3. Chapter 3

The wood was cool on his skin as Harry rolled his face against the table - with a hand on an open book, of course, so he couldn't be accused of doing nothing. He had decided to just skip dinner tonight and continue hiding here, but he would definitely need to stop by the kitchens later. He'd already eaten the sandwich he'd taken with him a few hours ago, and he would need more food before night. Harry wasn't looking forward to confronting the kitchen without Dobby's exuberant presence, but that was a problem for when he got to it.

The library was as usual on a weeknight: several students (mostly Hufflepuffs) crowded around tables in the back to study together quietly, and a few others from various houses scattered around or wandering the stacks. This was good for Harry because if he chose the table he was currently sat at, he could tell easily if someone he did not want to talk to (which was everyone) was approaching. He wasn't sure what he would do if they approached, but at least he could see. The group study table's were in front of him, and the entrance to the library to his left, so everything (besides some spaces between the stacks and alcoves) was in his view. This was, of course, provided he was actually looking he realised, as he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. He lifted his head and his spirits sank. Ginny.

It wasn't that he didn't like her, or that he didn't appreciate her company just as much as Ron and Hermione's in theory, it was just that firstly, she was another person, and secondly...well, he'd just left her hanging without any answers. He felt bad that he'd never addressed the situation, but quite honestly he had just never felt up to it.

The discussion would be complicated and messy because he had promised that he and Ginny would get back together after everything was over, and he still loved her but he didn't know how to have a relationship anymore. It seemed like so much effort and he never wanted to be around _anyone_ anymore, and he doubted Ginny would react well to her boyfriend constantly avoiding and ignoring her...just as he had been doing. They weren't technically together anymore though, he was just avoiding the conversation.

Unfortunately, Harry couldn't very well pretend he didn't notice her _right here_ , and it was looking like he might actually be forced to interact with her again. Wonderful.

"Hey Harry," she said gently.

She had every right to be angry, but Harry supposed she had gotten the memo that he wasn't functioning well and was treating him delicately. Not that he needed it. He was fine, and he wished she would just yell at him for being a terrible boyfriend or something already, but it was clear she wasn't going to today.

"Hi Gin," he sighed.

"How are you doing back at Hogwarts?" She sat down in the seat next to him and faced him, adopting an interested expression. She had always done that when she knew he wanted to brush an issue off so that he knew she was really listening.

"It's alright," he answered hesitantly. "Sucks having to do schoolwork again, but it's also kind of nice to be back, you know? Besides all of the reminders of dead people, that is," he scoffed.

Ginny was quiet for a moment.

"Yeah, I understand that. How are you doing with all of the people? I know you were all closed away this summer, so that's a big change."

"I don't like it, but I can deal with it. People pretty much leave me alone, it's just Ron and Hermione really that are too much."

"Really? You guys don't really seem to have been hanging out that much."

"Yeah, but it's been multiple days with me seeing them multiple times each day. It's kind of a lot when you compare it to not seeing anyone ever," Harry's tone became a bit sharp.

Madame Pince shot him a warning glare at his volume, and Ginny surprisingly backed down instead of getting fired up by his agitation.

"I suppose that's true. I think it's good for you to be around people again. Getting used to being around your best friends more often again is a good step."

"When did you become a master of advice? Maybe I don't want to get used to it because I don't _enjoy_ it anymore."

She scoffed.

"Alright, you _know_ I'm not trying to be high and mighty. I'm trying to help, and I'm pretty sure I'm right. You think you don't like it because you've gotten used to isolating yourself and you refuse to open yourself up and _allow_ yourself to enjoy company anymore. I gave you space because you wanted it (and frankly I needed it to work on healing some of my own wounds), and I'm going to continue doing that, but I'm not going to completely remove myself from your life-"

"That's-"

"Just let me finish Harry," she sighed. "I'm not a fool. I knew things wouldn't just magically be wonderful after the war was over, it's a _war_. I knew our relationship wouldn't be easy, and I'm not surprised you avoided the issue like you always do - and I'm not blaming you. I don't expect for us to just get back together and both of us to spontaneously be okay, that's not what I'm looking for. You are one of my best friends though, Harry, besides having been a couple - which I hope to again - but being your friend is more important now. You don't need to be afraid of my company because you think I'm going to try to force our relationship. I'm going to give you space, but I will still find and talk to you occasionally and I want you to feel like you can be comfortable hanging out with me if you need someone."

"Er, okay."

"Just as verbose as always then?" Ginny grinned.

Harry gave a small smile at her joke.

"Thanks Gin."

"I'll let you alone now then." She stood and patted his shoulder before leaving the library.

Harry rested his forehead back on the table and began mulling over the conversation. It hadn't been so bad, he supposed. Ginny had been incredibly understanding, but he still couldn't help but wish that she had been angry. That would have made it much easier to just push her away with everyone else, he realised. Ah, so that was really his plan behind everything he did. He shrugged to himself, figuring he had already pretty much known he was trying to push everyone away.

 _Now_ the question was how to sort out his thoughts, because strangely she had changed some of them. Part of his brain was quite tempted by her offer of spending time with just her in quiet. The other part continued to insist stubbornly that he didn't need or even want _anyone_. He was enough company for himself, thank you very much. However he knew that wasn't quite true. As much as he had always liked to spend time on his own, he did need his friends, and he was still relieved that they chose to spend time with him (even if he didn't really want them to). But he also _did_ want to. He was conflicted over pretty much everything involving other people. Which meant the easiest answer was still avoiding everyone.

He groaned aloud because he knew he didn't really think that, and decided to push all issues away for now into the back of his head. He would do work. Opening his bag, he looked through for the piece of parchment on which he had written his assignments for the week. Deciding any assignment was as good as another, he chose at random. Transfiguration essay, then - two and a half feet on the differences between transfiguration of inanimate and animate subjects.

After carefully setting out a roll of parchment, his inkwell, quill, and textbook on the table in a clean row he went to the stacks to find some relevant books. He scanned the titles in the transfiguration section, not sure what might contain relevant information. Impatient, he began grabbing books at random, figuring some of them must contain at least a _little_ on the subject. Once he had amassed about twelve, he hauled them back to his table.

"Ow!" Several things had painfully struck his feet and legs.

Harry looked down to discover he was no longer holding the books. He looked back up at the table, which was scarcely a metre in front of him and his shoulders sagged. He hadn't even felt himself drop the books - his hands had just sort of _let go_ without his consent or direction.

Making no move to pick them up, Harry simply glared at the offending objects. It wasn't really the fault of the books themselves that they were on the floor, but Harry also kind of felt like it _was_. He knew it didn't make sense, but he continued to glare at the books, wanting them to know what they'd done.

With considerably more pomp than he could ever remember having performed an action before, Harry gathered the books and put them primly on the table with the rest of his things. He pulled his chair out and sat down harshly, blowing out air and trying to gather himself back together. He opened the first book on top of the stack and checked for an index. Right, of course there wasn't one - that would be too easy. Really not wanting to do actual work, he let his eyes wander. A few Hufflepuffs at a table nearby were glancing at him a bit strangely (likely because of his odd reaction to dropping the books). He glared at them and looked the other way, not because he disliked them or really even thought they were being rude, he just wanted to discourage them from interacting with him in any way. That included looking at him.

Harry let his eyes wander through the rows of shelves, as most of his looking options had been taken away by those Hufflepuffs. He saw something shiny out of the corner of his eye and looked to see Malfoy. His blond hair was reflecting the light obnoxiously. Fantastic. Harry ducked his head down and absorbed himself with the book. He did not need Malfoy to see him, as the only two interactions they'd had so far this year had gone very badly in Harry's opinion, and he thought he'd be content with never seeing the other boy again just to avoid the awkwardness.

It didn't take long for Harry to lose himself in the work of research and writing, and the next time he looked up, the library was much emptier, and it appeared to be quite late. Checking the time, he discovered that he should probably get back to Gryffindor Tower before curfew. He had nearly finished his essay, and figured he only needed a few ending paragraphs, which he knew generally what to write for. As he gathered his stuff and headed back, he thought cheerfully that at least he hadn't been interrupted by anyone while he was working, when his stomach growled loudly cutting off his thoughts. Shit. He'd never eaten.

He stalled on the staircase, debating whether to just go up to his dormitory and stick it out or go to the kitchens and risk being late for curfew. The staircase made a deep rumbling sound and began to move. Well that settled it. Harry began heading back down the stairs to the kitchens; he hadn't made it far anyway.

As soon as the portrait of fruit swung open, Harry was bombarded with polite greetings from the house elves. When he explained that he had missed dinner, the overly concerned elves quickly brought out several platters of meat, potatoes, steamed vegetables, and bread rolls. It smelled delicious, and Harry thanked them and dug in exuberantly, but cautiously. If he ate too quickly he'd feel worse than if he hadn't eaten at all. Realising this, Harry sighed through a mouthful of potatoes: that meant he'd definitely miss curfew. Whatever, it didn't really matter so much anymore - was he really going to get a detention for being out half an hour late? Even if he did it would be fine, really it might even be a nice way to fill up time away from other people.

It was close to an hour before Harry decided he'd eaten enough. He thanked the house elves again and walked back to his dorm, not bothering to look out or be covert. He was slightly disappointed when he finally entered the common room and had not been stopped a single time on the way. Regardless, he hazarded a guess that he was not supposed to _want_ detention, and it wouldn't have taken up _much_ time anyway. He continued up to the Eighth Year dormitory and was surprised to open the door to a wash of noise. There must have been a muting charm on the door because he hadn't heard anything before, but Harry was definitely hearing it now. He appeared to have walked into a spat between Dean and Seamus. Unfortunate, he thought, considering how close they'd always been, but they'd be fine - arguments were inevitable in a friendship like that.

Harry awkwardly shifted his weight for a moment in the doorway, and they both stopped yelling when they noticed him.

"Er, hi," he said awkwardly. "I'll just…" he scurried to his bed and shut the curtains, quickly casting a silencing charm around his bed. It didn't matter that he was trapped under his bed hangings, it wasn't like he was going to bed and needed to change or anything. He hadn't seen Ron or Neville, he realised, and wondered where they had went. Maybe he had walked by them in the common room? If he had, he wished they would have gotten his attention and warned him.

Harry had long lost himself to thought, when something jostled the curtains of his bed. He peeked his head out of the curtains to see Seamus and Dean stumbling across the room. At first he thought they had devolved into a physical brawl, but no they were...kissing. Oh. Harry ducked back inside the safety of his curtains. He didn't know how to feel. Was this a new thing? He supposed it must have been, or otherwise they would have told him, right?

He put it out of his mind and decided to stew about any number of other things for the rest of the night. Eventually, of course, his mind made its way back to his conversation with Ginny in the library. He didn't really want to be around anyone, but at the same time he was starting to feel quite lonely. If he could just sit with her alone and be silent that might not be bad at all. Maybe he'd try and see, and if it wasn't nice then he simply wouldn't do it again. Maybe.

Perhaps he should put that matter aside for now as well. He wondered if Ron and Neville had ever come back. Harry figured he'd been spaced out for a few hours at this point and ended the charm around his bed. He heard snores and even breathing filling the room. Definitely four people.

Harry lay back and, having gone through everything else in his head, he began sorting through the effects of the war that he was responsible for, and how much he still needed to pay. None of it really made sense - how could he quantify what exactly the payment should be for the loss of one life and how those payments may differ? And yet he did. He lay there thinking it all through, making estimations for those he wasn't sure of, and deciding how to pay: pain, of course. He decided he could pay for one life a day, depending on who they were; some lives may take more than one. Harry welcomed the wax as it began to drip down from the top of his bed curtains. Basking in the deserved misery, his brain flooded him with the scathing voices of several of those close to him who had been murdered, of Voldemort, and of several Death Eaters all accusing him of being careless and callous, and only thinking of saving himself. This continued on, with Harry half wanting to defend himself but also knowing that he deserved it, until Ron jerked open Harry's bed curtains.

"Ron?" Harry blinked at the sudden light.

"Harry. I didn't see you at all yesterday after classes! Where did you go off to?"

"I just did some work on an essay," Harry muttered.

"Yeah, well that's not quite like you. You could've at least told us," he said, sounding hurt. "And did you stay up all night again?" he added, taking in Harry's fully clothed state and glasses.

"Well maybe people change, Ron. It's like me _now_ in any case. And sorry, but if you haven't noticed I've been trying for more space lately, yeah?"

Ron just sighed, refusing to rise to the bait.

"Did you stay up again?" he repeated.

"So what if I did?"

"Harry, mate, you need to sleep."

"I can't."

"Whatever. You wanna go to breakfast?"

Harry looked around and noticed all of the other boys were already gone. It must have already been somewhat late.

"I've got a free period in the morning. I was just going to stay here," Harry responded, still holding onto his aggressive tone.

"Will you drop the act Harry? There's no way you're that angry all the time - I get it, you want us to leave you alone, we _know_ , but you being angry all the time is tiring"

"Fine, whatever."

"Come on, can't we just be buds like always, but just hang out less often or something?"

"I'd like to, but things aren't 'like always' anymore."

"Yeah I _know_ Harry, but that's why we've got to work toward- you know, never mind. I don't wanna argue right now. What's up?"

"What's up?"

"Yeah. I mean, how are you, what's happening, what's up?"

"Er, I dunno. Same as usual I guess. Thinking."

"Okay."

"What's, er, what's up with you?"

"Not much. Hermione's usually talking my ear off fretting about you, but I'm trying to get her to realise it's not gonna work to force you to do what you don't want to."

"Thanks," Harry's shoulders, which he had unconsciously hunched, relaxed. He was quite grateful to Ron, who really didn't have to keep being such a good friend to him, but apparently did anyway.

"Erm, last night…" Harry brought up hesitantly.

"Yeah? You mean Dean and Seamus' screaming match?"

"Yes, I suppose. Are they um...I saw them kissing?"

"Okay? Great. Why are you telling me that?"

"Are they, you know," he made a vague motion with his hands, "together?"

Ron gave him a strange look.

"Yes? Harry, are you serious?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Mate, they've been together since Sixth Year."

"What?" Harry spluttered. "Why did nobody tell me?"

"What do you mean? It was so obvious. I'd been expecting it for ages."

"But...wasn't Dean dating Ginny Sixth Year?"

"Yeah? They got together after he and Gin broke up. Man I hated them together. She never listened to me though. Clearly Seamus had fancied him forever and Dean was always leading him on and then he got together with my _sister_ \- just a mess."

"So you knew _all_ of this?"

"Merlin, Harry, it was all right there, nothing was a secret! I guess you were always just wrapped up in your head though. A lot was happening then." Ron grew quiet.

"Well...I suppose you should go down to the Great Hall before you miss breakfast completely."

"Yeah, okay. Well, I'll see you in Defense Against the Dark Arts then?"

"Sure," Harry nodded.

It seemed Harry had missed quite a lot over the years. He wondered what else he had failed to notice. Now that he thought about it, he couldn't remember ever noticing much that didn't directly pertain to him or whatever the Problem of the Year was. Merlin, he was incredibly self-centred, wasn't he? No, he'd just had a lot to deal with...but then that was really no excuse. And he hadn't _always_ had something important going on. He supposed he could just add the fact that he'd never paid attention to anyone else to the list of things he should pay for. Maybe paying attention to the things around him could have been the key to sparing more people.

He succumbed again to letting his thoughts eat at him until it was time for his one class of the day. He wearily rolled out of bed and trudged to class, barely noticing the new teacher and failing to pay attention to the lesson. The entire lesson Harry just existed in a blurry space. Everything around him was blurry, sounds were blurry, even his thoughts were blurry. The lesson slipped by and he registered somehow that it was over and managed to make it back up the several flights of stairs, through the portrait, and to his dormitory. His things slipped from his hands to the floor, and he collapsed on his bed, already falling asleep.


End file.
